Out on the Town
by xevious
Summary: Beauty and the Beast. On a trip to town, Belle comes to terms with her future.


Author's notes: All of my previous stories have been script style comedies, and Powerpuff Girls ones at that. This is my first Beauty and the Beast fic, my first non-comedy, and my first attempt at prose. I hope to write more in the future because I love these characters and want to do them justice. This one deals mainly with Belle and is set before the beginning of the movie. Let me know what you think. If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, feel free to contact me at xeviousgt@yahoo.com. Thanks.  
  
  
  
  
  
1 Out on the Town  
  
By "Xevious' Pat Banks  
  
  
  
Every morning was the same since the first day that she came to this small provincial town.  
  
That thought ran through Belle's head every sunrise as she stared at the ceiling from her bed. This morning was no different. It was the same quilt, the same cold wooden floor, and the same ankle-length white cotton nightgown, which she had grown accustomed to over the years. The night before, however, was the first time in ages that one of her rituals was broken, that of reading in bed while drifting off to sleep.  
  
She'd finished what she considered to be a lackluster story. The writing was second-hand, and after a while she grew bored with it, causing her to skim over the pages in hopes of getting done. Finishing before bedtime, she looked for a new diversion. The din of clanking metal and loud groans gave evidence that her father was still working downstairs. Maybe he could use a helping hand? It had been a while since she worked with him. No, she would only get in his way. Besides, he was used to working alone.  
  
It was then she attempted to pass the time away by sketching images she fantasized about from a previous book, one she loved. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't draw the picture exactly the way she wanted. Still, she persevered until mid night, eventually tiring. By morning, the mountain of crumpled sheets next to the bed showed the futility of her new hobby. She lazily scooped the wads of paper from the floor and gently tossed them one by one at the dresser mirror that hung on the opposite wall from her bed. Sighing in disappointment, she knew the reality of a new day would soon take over. There were chores to be done. Time to rise and shine.  
  
Wearily wiping her eyes, she staggered out of bed towards a window, where the early morning light struggled to fill the room by stretching around the edges of a pulled down shade. "Let's see. Today's Friday. No, wait. It's Thursday. Hmmph! Like it really matters."  
  
Still sleepy-eyed as she shuffled across the floor, one of her bare feet made hard contact with the leg of the dresser drawers, smashing her small toe. She let out a yelp as she hopped on her un-injured foot to the windowsill. Propping herself up on the ledge, she massaged the pain.  
  
"At least now I'll remember what day today is. I can already hear myself saying it. 'What day was it that I almost broke my small toe? Oh, it was a Thursday!' "  
  
Pivoting herself on the sill, she flipped open the shade. She grimaced as her rapidly blinking eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness. Although low- hanging clouds dominated the skyline, they were thin enough to let through the early morning sun.  
  
"Looks like the rain finally stopped. Good thing, too. I'm getting tired of all these clouds. Everything's so drab. I'm counting on you to make a comeback today, Mr. Sun."  
  
She slid open the window and took a deep breath only to have a peaceful morning interrupted by the boisterous sounds of clucking hens and braying goats. Feathers flew when she shooed a hen who perched herself on the sill after haphazardly flapping about. Not helping matters was a gusty north wind that blew directly in her face, giving her instant goose bumps and sending her hair flying over her eyes. The window was quickly slammed shut.  
  
"I've got to get me a different room."  
  
"Belle, are you up yet? We have a lot to do." It was her father, Maurice, yelling at her through the door.  
  
"I'm awake, Papa. I'll be down in a minute."  
  
She pulled the shade back down and made her way to the closet door. As she walked across the room, she stopped at the dresser drawer and gave it a wry smile as she gently tapped her fingers along the top.  
  
"I'm not going to fall for that again."  
  
After quickly dressing, Belle trotted downstairs now wearing her familiar blue dress and white blouse. The kitchen table had already been set with places for two. She stood behind one of the dining chairs and looked into the kitchen as she tied her hair into a ponytail using a blue ribbon. Inside the kitchen, her father was busy cooking over a hot stove.  
  
"I made it down. How much longer until breakfast?"  
  
"Not for another ten minutes or so. I can't keep the pancakes from burning. Dadgum stove! Never cooks right." He instinctively gave the stove a swift kick. This was a bad habit he had acquired as a child. If it didn't work, give it a swift one. This indirectly led to his career as an inventor. More than once he had to make on-the-spot repairs to what he was responsible for disabling. After a while, the creative aspect of repairing became more important than the actual repairs themselves.  
  
"After I finish my current project I have a few ideas on sprucing that bucket of bolts up. Just you wait and see. Instant flapjacks!"  
  
"That would go perfect with the instant juice maker."  
  
"I knew you'd like that one. Say, are you going to the market today?"  
  
Belle pulled out a chair and took a seat. She cupped her hands around her chin and rested her elbows on the table. "It is Thursday you know."  
  
"So it is. So it is. But what about the market? Are you going?"  
  
"I go every Thursday after breakfast. And every Monday for that matter."  
  
At least that is what he was led to believe. What Belle didn't tell her father is that she went into town almost every day. He would become so engrossed in his work that he would lose all track of time. She took full advantage of this to slip out unnoticed for hours upon end. Not that she disobeyed him, but the chance to get away from their tiny plot of land was too good to pass up. Still, it bothered her conscience somewhat. Surely he could use her help around the house more than he was letting on. Who wouldn't? But the pros of her silence outweighed the cons. There was no way she was going to risk giving up her guilty pleasure.  
  
"Ready or not, here they come!" Maurice yelled as he walked into the dining room carrying a platter of pancakes. After flipping both Belle and himself a large stack apiece he sat across from his daughter. "I'm so close to finishing my latest creation, but there's still a couple of parts I lack. Would you be a dear and see if you can find them while you're there? I have a list written down so you won't forget."  
  
"Sure, I'd be happy to." she said sullenly.  
  
"Is there something wrong?"  
  
Belle lifted her head from her hands. "No, I was just wondering if I needed to use Philippe? I was hoping to walk today since it looks like the sun's finally coming out."  
  
"Don't worry, it's nothing you won't be able to carry. And take all the time you need. There's plenty I can do until you return."  
  
As they ate, Maurice explained to his daughter how his new creation would revolutionize the problem of heating one's house during the winter. He was absolutely sure that the revolving fireplace was the wave of the future. However impractical his ideas sounded when they first came out of his mouth, the end result was always a wonder. The prototypes were ponderous at first, but with a bit of tinkering through the years each was streamlined to a rather practical household item, almost to the point of being a necessity. It was a matter of time, Belle thought, before one of the inventions became wildly popular and made them a tidy profit. But for now, they were lucky to sell to the locals. Her father believed that the revolving fireplace would finally reel in big money investors and make his name known throughout all France.  
  
Watching the joy on his face as he spoke, she couldn't help but smile at her father's sheer enthusiasm. He always had a way of cheering her up no matter what mood she was in. Lately, it has not been a good one. Even her secret trips into town hadn't been helping. It was not a good sign when even a favorite diversion became monotonous. She hoped maybe today would be different.  
  
After finishing breakfast, Belle did her usual chores by clearing the table and tending to the animals. Now all too eager to head into town, she almost forgot her coat. She hoped it would warm soon, being the beginning of spring. Even though the air was cold, she knew the how the weather could change in a heartbeat in this part of France. Depending on which way the wind blew it could suddenly change from warm and sunny to cold and blustery. It wasn't even unusual for snow to fall in the early spring. Taking along a coat became a spontaneous habit, although she had a hunch that mild weather was on its way.  
  
Now set for her walk, Belle kissed her father on the cheek and waved goodbye as she closed the front gate behind her.  
  
  
  
________  
  
  
  
After reaching the town's outskirts, she started playing a game as she skipped across the cobblestones, being careful not to step on any of the cracks. Since her eyes were continually cast downward, she inadvertently slammed into a well-dressed woman, knocking both of them to the ground.  
  
"Will you please watch where you are going." The woman said as she adjusted her hat. "Some of us have to look our best." She placed her glasses, which had been dangling from her neck by a small chain, on her nose and took a close look at Belle. "Oh, I should have known it was you."  
  
Belle apologized. "I'm really sorry. I wasn't paying attention."  
  
"That was painfully obvious." the woman remarked as she righted herself. "Some of us have better things to do than play games."  
  
"I said I was sorry."  
  
"Tell that to the washerwoman who cleans my clothes. Good day!"  
  
"And a good day to you, too." Belle remarked as she watched the woman continue on her way. Accidentally running into someone was not how she wanted to begin the day. She already had a reputation as a daydreamer and this would do nothing but enforce it. She didn't mind too much, though. There were many things worse a person could be stereotyped as. As she knelt and collected her belongings from the ground, Belle found the list her father had given her. In her haste to leave, she hadn't even taken the time to check it. This was a good a time as any to give it the once over.  
  
"Only Papa could ask for such things," she laughed to herself as she read. "I hope he's not disappointed if I go back empty-handed." As she stood back up and tucked the list into her apron, a raucous commotion up ahead caught her attention. She craned her neck out of curiosity to get a better view. "Is that what I think it is?"  
  
The market had opened early today. Townsfolk were swarming about in every direction in an attempt to strike a deal. At first glance it was like any other day, but to Belle the smell was unmistakable. A fresh haul of fish had arrived this morning. The term 'fresh', however, should be used loosely. The term rancid had a better ring to it she always thought. The smell was so strong that if the wind conditions were right the putrid aroma traveled all the way to their home.  
  
Luckily, fish wasn't on the list. The only time it was needed was when it was absolutely necessary in order to balance out her and her father's diet. And then she literally had to hold her nose while quickly picking out the best looking catch from the bunch. By the time she arrived home she was nauseated by the smell. That led to two things that were spoiled, the fish and her appetite.  
  
Unfortunately, in order to reach the center of town she had to pass directly through the market. It was literally a labyrinth of horse-drawn carts and makeshift stands, causing prospective buyers to blindly zigzag their way through, futilely seeking the exit to the life-sized maze. Belle stopped on the edge of the constantly shuffling throng of shoppers. Every so often an occasional shout made its way above the prattle of conversation.  
  
"I'll take two! Make it three!"  
  
"What's that supposed to be?"  
  
"Wrap it for me, would you my good man?"  
  
With a determined look on her face, Belle pushed her way in. "Coming through. Pardon me, madam. Excuse me, monsieur."  
  
There was a second thing she dreaded about the fish market besides the smell, and it was equally as nauseating.  
  
"Why, hello, Belle."  
  
Her worst fear came true. Gaston, the town's leading egomaniac and head xenophobe, was standing in front of her blocking the way out. A son of old money, his father owned the town's only watering hole and controlled the entire (poorly run) fish market, which accounted for the unwanted presence. Gaston used his inherited wealth and stature to the fullest. He'd practically taken up residence in the pub and turned it into the focal point of gossip and nightlife, making him the toast of the town. His effervescent personality only enhanced his standing. Everyone seemed to flock to his side like puppy dogs, in hopes of staying on his good side and gaining influence. Belle would see this and wince. Why should someone with such low intelligence have so much with so little effort? Life wasn't fair.  
  
Belle kept her head down and talked fast. Hopefully, he was in no mood for games today. "Good morning, Gaston. Lovely day isn't it? Is that a new coat? It looks nice. If you'll excuse me, I have to get going. Bye."  
  
She sidestepped Gaston in an attempt to escape, but was grabbed by the arm and forcefully spun around.  
  
"Why the rush. Don't you have time for a little tête-à-tête?"  
  
Belle could read between the lines. This meant 'Why don't you stick around and listen to me yammer about myself for hours upon end?'  
  
" I have to buy a few things and head straight home. My father's expecting me."  
  
"Listen to me, Belle. There's always time for conversation."  
  
Belle's worst fears were coming true. She had been noticing that Gaston had taken a more personal interest in her lately. Not as an acquaintance, but as man to woman. The way he accomplished this was unnerving. One of his favorite tactics was to corner her in a doorway, lean his hand against the frame, and put his face inches from hers as he spoke. Belle would always catch a whiff of stale beer on his breath that sickened her. It actually made her miss the aroma of the fish market. Not that Gaston cared. He was getting what he wanted. And she secretly knew where he was leading with these advances, but was afraid to admit it.  
  
"Please, I have a lot of errands to run. I don't have the time." Belle said as she jerked her arm from her suitor's grasp.  
  
Gaston quickly responded. "Isn't that ironic? I have plenty of time to spare. I can join you and keep you company. A woman shouldn't be seen unescorted around town anyway. People may start talking." He then leaned in close. "And we don't want that to happen, do we?"  
  
The tone in which he spoke his last sentence sent a chill up Belle's spine. Although not the brightest star in the sky, he could be dangerously cunning at times. It was a deadly combination. She new perfectly well that with the drop of a hat Gaston was capable of ruining someone's reputation with a single word without batting an eye. There was little choice but to acquiesce to the veiled threat.  
  
"Sure, I guess it will be all right for you to come." Belle said timidly. "I'm in a hurry, though. I hope you can keep up."  
  
Gaston placed his hands over his lapels and smugly rocked back and forth on his heels. "Don't worry about me. I'll stay right by your side. I'm stickier than glue."  
  
"Yes, and twice as thick."  
  
"It's nice of you to take notice! I'm glad you're finally seeing the true me."  
  
"It's not very hard." Belle quipped as she quickly turned and headed for her nearest stop.  
  
  
  
________  
  
  
  
Belle's level of tolerance was severely tested as Gaston consistently talked of nothing but himself, which wasn't at all new. For the few seconds he wasn't, he ground their walk to a halt by pointing out excruciatingly trivial bits of minutia about the town and its inhabitants. Not only who was married to whom, but how long they've been together, where they lived, their likes and dislikes, and, of course, what type of fish they bought. It amazed her that a person could talk so much and say so little.  
  
After two minutes that seemed like two hours, they approached the business of the town's professional seamstress. A wooden sign dangling above the door bore the name, Madame Quaff - Seamstress. The shop was bordered by the bakery and the local church, which made it appear tiny compared to the larger buildings on either side of it. This gave it, however, a quaint appearance appropriate for such place.  
  
"Here we are. This should only take a minute." Belle said as she reached for the door handle.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah! Don't you think I should be the one opening that?"  
  
Belle was taken aback by the sudden burst of chivalry. "Why, thank you, Gaston."  
  
"No need to thank me." Gaston boasted as he entered the shop, leaving Belle behind.  
  
She should have known. His sense of manners had been dead and buried, along with his humility, long ago. At least he had the decency to leave the door open.  
  
The inside of the building looked like the interior of someone's house. There was a love seat bordered by two small end tables and a corner curio, which housed various knick-knacks, was off to its side. A small stand, covered by a lace doily and supporting a vase full of daffodils, guarded the front entrance. It looked so much like a well lived-in home that Belle fully expected to catch a whiff of cookies fresh from the oven. The one thing that gave it the appearance of a working establishment was a counter that blocked the only other exit from the room.  
  
A coy Gaston gave the area a quick glance. "Hmmm. No one's here. I suppose we'll have to wait. That love seat does look comfy."  
  
"It does, doesn't it?" Belle hurriedly leaned over the counter and called for the seamstress. "Madame Quaff? Are you in? It's Belle. I've come for my clothes."  
  
From out of the back a woman's voice responded. "You're here already? My, my, time sure has flown by today."  
  
"Lucky you." Belle mumbled under her breath.  
  
A plump woman in her fifties, dressed in a flowing brown gown, shuffled her way from around a corner. She carried a small bundle neatly wrapped in a white cloth and tied together with a piece of string. She placed the bundle on a counter top and reached underneath, pulling out a sheet of paper.  
  
"That's three aprons and two pairs of socks," she read. "Each as good as new."  
  
"Do you mind if I paid next week? We plan to sell our eggs at market on Monday. I'll be here with the money as soon as we do."  
  
"No problem, dearie. I'll see you then."  
  
Gaston, lounging on the love seat, started snickering.  
  
"What's so funny?" a puzzled Belle asked.  
  
"You mean to tell me that you brought clothes here to be darned?"  
  
"What's wrong with that?" she retorted.  
  
"You mean you couldn't have done that yourself? You're a girl after all."  
  
Belle slammed her basket on the counter and angrily placed her hands on her hips. She had been through this song and dance before. "What does that have to do with anything?!"  
  
"How are you supposed to catch a husband if you don't know how to sew. Everyone knows that's women's work."  
  
Belle shot back. "Women's work!"  
  
Gaston ignored her and continued to talk. "They should also know how to cook, milk the cows, scrub the floors, plow the fields and still look good for their man at the end of the day. And there are plenty of eligible bachelors here in town that would love to settle with the right woman. You need to get with the times, Belle. You're not getting any younger."  
  
Belle turned to Madame Quaff in hopes of getting sympathy. All the seamstress did was shrug her shoulders and disappear to the back. Tucking the clothes under her arm, she grabbed the basket, flung open the door, and, without saying a word, half ran-half walked across the town's center plaza. Gaston continued his one-sided conversation as he tried to keep up, but she heeded him little attention. His words resonated no more than that of the buzz of a housefly. She imagined herself with the world's biggest swatter and using it to flatten him.  
  
The fantasy was interrupted as Gaston stopped her in her tracks by taking hold of her apron strings. "Are you listening to me, Belle? I'm only telling you this for your own good."  
  
She did all she could to bite her tongue. "If I wanted your advice I'd have asked for it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish my shopping."  
  
"Where are we headed next?"  
  
"I'm going to the general store. Where you're going to end up I can only imagine."  
  
"Ah! That's more like it. The boys will be waiting for me, no doubt!"  
  
Belle suddenly realized her mistake in allowing Gaston to escort her. The tavern may be the main hangout, but that was in the evening. During the early hours, he and his cronies would gather at the general store. Not that they accomplished anything. All it was for hours upon end was a series of good-natured insults and backslapping. Gaston knew this and was eager to arrive. Taking the lead he once again entered before Belle. This time the door was set on a hinged spring, which automatically slammed it shut in her face. She stood staring, wondering if this was the opportune time to lose her unwanted shadow. Thinking hard for a minute, she realized that her time was too important to let the likes of Gaston bother her.  
  
Belle took a deep breath as she entered, praying that none of his friends had arrived yet. She could only bemoan what she saw. Three had already shown. Their faces were familiar although she did not know their names. The tall heavy-set one she had spoken to often while the others, both shorter and stockier, she had met only once or twice. Individually, each was as nice as they could be. Together, when Gaston was around, they were a handful. It was as if their conscience threw an internal obnoxious switch inside each of them whenever he was present. She knew this would be no exception. Now there would be four of his kind to deal with instead of only one.  
  
The raucous laughter and offensive jokes were flying almost instantly. This was not a good sign. Pity the next innocent shopper who happened to wonder in. They'd soon be the butt of the group's insults. To avoid being the first to suffer this fate, Belle sneaked behind the rows of farm equipment to the far left so as to reach the shopkeeper unseen. Not that she was afraid, but because she was not in the mood for any more of Gaston's 'help'.  
  
She had one narrow escape when one of the old floorboards let out a loud squeak as she gently stepped on it. She was certain the noise would grab their attention, but fortunately, at the exact same time, Gaston had made one of his now infamous crude sound effects. Never had Belle been so relieved to hear such a vulgar noise.  
  
Just ahead of her, she spied an elderly man hunched on a stool behind the store's counter. With a shaky hand, he was slowly counting money and placing it into stacks according to the denomination. Belle recognized him as the shopkeeper's father, who spelled for him while he was away on business. The old man wasn't much help. He was more of a warm body present only for appearance sake. He would have to do, Belle thought, because she didn't want to linger any longer than she had to. She would still be partially hidden from Gaston's view, and with any luck she'd be able to finish her business and sneak out the way she came in.  
  
Approaching cautiously, she called out to the shopkeeper. "Monsieur, could you help me please?"  
  
The old man kept stacking the money, ignoring her. Belle tried again a bit louder.  
  
"Excuse me. I need some help."  
  
Still there was no response. She stretched over the counter and tapped him on the shoulder. The old man sprang off the stool with such speed he seemed more like a cat than a man in his eighties. He covered his eyes with his hands and trembled. "Take the money, just leave me alone!"  
  
Belle reached over the counter and pulled his hands back down to his sides. "It's only me, Belle."  
  
"Thank heavens. Don't scare me like that, child."  
  
"Sorry. It won't happen again." she giggled.  
  
The old man climbed back on his stool. "See that it doesn't. Now, what can I do for you today?"  
  
"I need some tools for my father."  
  
The man cupped his hand to his ear. "What's that?"  
  
Belle rolled her eyes. "I said, 'I need to buy….'"  
  
"Goodbye to you too. Don't be a stranger," he said cutting her off nonchalantly.  
  
Belle spoke a bit more forcefully. "I'm looking for some tools for my father. I want to know if you carry them."  
  
"Ooooh, tools! Why didn't you say so in the first place? I'm afraid I won't be much help in that department. My son ought to be back any moment. Maybe he'll know."  
  
"But I'm in a hurry. Do you think you could check for me?"  
  
"Eh, I suppose so. What are you looking for?"  
  
Belle sat her basket on the counter and removed the list from her apron. "How about a three-quarter Pinckney flange? He has that one circled in red."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A three-quarter Pinckney flange."  
  
"I'm sorry. Would you mind repeating that?"  
  
Frustrated, Belle spoke slowly and very loudly, almost to the point of yelling. "A three-quarter Pinckney flange!"  
  
"Never heard of it," the old man replied in an equally loud voice.  
  
Belle nearly melted to the floor when she heard the sound of heavy breathing behind her. Gaston's voice boomed out. "Pardon me, boys, but it sounds like the little lady could use my help. You know how it is. Girls and tools don't mix very well."  
  
His cronies let loose a belly laugh at his attempted humor. Belle couldn't understand how decent folks could find humor in other people's humiliation. These same three men on any other day would have gladly assisted her with a smile. This was the effect Gaston had on others. She didn't know whether to pity or despise him for it.  
  
Gaston turned his attention to Belle. "You say you need a three-quarter Pinckney flange? I'm not familiar with that. Do you mind explaining what it does?" He broke out into a sly grin.  
  
"I'm not really sure." Belle tried to use her hands as visual aids, twisting her fingers until they interlocked. "I think he uses it to hold other parts together, like a clamp of some sort. He never exactly told me what it does."  
  
"Hear that, boys. She doesn't even know what it is." Gaston remarked to his friends. "Knowing her father, he probably made it all up. Who ever heard of a three-quarter Pinckney flange?" He extended his index finger and spun it around his temple to indicate her father was crazy. "I wonder what other kind of special tools he needs."  
  
The heavy-set man replied first. "How about a dinglehopper? I heard those come in real handy."  
  
"Or a biggermajigger." chimed in his friend next to him.  
  
The third crony began to sweat. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, waiting for his remark. He slowly tugged on his collar and twisted his neck back and forth.  
  
"Well!" Gaston sneered at him.  
  
"Snarfblat?" the man nervously replied.  
  
After an awkward few seconds, Gaston and his cohorts began howling with laughter. Soon, the third man lost his uneasiness and joined in as if nothing had happened. Belle was fit to be tied. Humiliating her in public was one thing, but to have fun at her father's expense infuriated her.  
  
"Stop it! It's not funny!"  
  
"I don't know about that!" Gaston said as he bent over and slapped his knee in a fit of laughter.  
  
Belle's face blazed a bright crimson from anger. Gaston turned his attention back to her as he continued to chuckle. "So what kind of crazy invention is he working on this time?"  
  
"None of my father's inventions are crazy! He's the most intelligent man I know!"  
  
"Come now, Belle. What about his auto-flyer that never got off the ground? Or the improvements he made to the town's fountain? We're still drying out."  
  
Belle had flashbacks of the fountain. Her father had installed a device was supposed to give it a more even flow of water, but instead of the expected quiet streams, powerful jets of water shot across the plaza, dousing businesses and passer-bys alike. She had blocked the experience from her mind, as well as most of her father's other failed experiments. She always focused on his successful ventures, which easily outnumbered the flops ten to one. But everyone else tended to remember only the negative. To them, a rare failure was easier to recall than one of his remarkable successes, which many of them had come to take for granted since their inception.  
  
"Rumor has it, his next idea is a piece of work called the revolving fire place. What's the master plan with that one, to burn down the town?" Gaston said with a touch of malice in his voice.  
  
Belle opened her mouth to respond to the accusation, but only silence emerged. After picturing in her mind all the troubles her father previously had, she couldn't help but imagine all the possibilities that could go wrong with the fireplace. For a moment she thought Gaston might be right. This caused her embarrassment, something she had never felt before in defending her father. Her face now turned from crimson to a different shade of red, a deep rosy blush.  
  
He continued with his barrage of sarcasm. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"  
  
Belle could feel tears forming in her eyes. "Keep away from me! Leave me alone!"  
  
She bolted from the store as fast as she could and headed for the only sanctuary in town where she would feel safe, the bookstore. As far as she knew Gaston had never stepped foot inside the building. He and books were not the best of friends. If only she had gone there first, this whole ugly scene could have been avoided.  
  
Back in the store, a younger version of the old man had made his way in from the back room carrying a large crate.  
  
"Was that Belle I heard?"  
  
"Sure was, son, but she left in an all fire hurry for some reason." the old man replied.  
  
"That's too bad. I was finally able to get my hands on the three-quarter Pinckney flange Maurice has been wanting."  
  
  
  
________  
  
  
  
Blinded by the emotions swirling through her head, Belle ran into the same woman from earlier that day while only mere feet from the bookstore entrance. As they both fell to the ground the string from her bundle of clothes broke apart, scattering them across the ground and coating them with dirt.  
  
"Why don't you watch where you're going?!" a visibly shaken Belle blurted.  
  
The woman gave the same shocked reaction. "Well, I never!"  
  
Belle, however, ignored her as she threw the soiled clothes in her basket and continued on. Finally, she reached the bookstore….and safety. As she was reaching for the door Gaston's arm suddenly appeared in front of her. He had quickly caught up and assumed his favorite position with his arm stretched across the doorway and resting on the frame.  
  
Belle tried pushing his arm away, but it wouldn't budge. "I said, leave me alone! Can't you listen for once?!"  
  
"Let's stop playing games and get to the point."  
  
"And what, pray tell, is that?!"  
  
"Can you honestly say you can't find me attractive? I know I can't."  
  
"You think this is all a game, don't you?! You have to be the most arrogant, self-serving child I've ever met!"  
  
"Look me in the eye and say that." Gaston said as he took a step closer to Belle. When he did, his boot came squarely down on her still painful toe, the one she had jammed into the dresser earlier that morning. Belle's face contorted, as her eyes grew as big as saucers. She'd reached her boiling point.  
  
"I can see in your face that you find me irresistible. It's the effect I have on all women. It's a curse I've come to live with."  
  
"Well then, let me return the favor!" Belle said emphatically as she stomped her heel into Gaston's boot. The result was an instant replay of herself from that morning. He hopped about howling while holding his foot. He eventually rested his backside on a cart of fish, which was unceremoniously upended by the excess weight. Gaston sprawled to the ground as the fish spilled into his lap.  
  
"You can't play hard to get forever!" he shouted at Belle as he shoved his way out of the pile of fish.  
  
"Try me!" she yelled back as she entered the bookstore, slamming the door shut.  
  
The bookseller was startled to see the usually jovial Belle so frazzled. "Are you OK, Belle? Is everything all right?"  
  
She placed her finger to her lips telling him to keep quiet, which he did. She carefully peeked outside the window and saw Gaston storming off in the opposite direction. Leaning against the door, she breathed a sigh of relief. At last it appeared as if she were rid of him for good. Finally, some time to herself.  
  
She apologized to the bookseller. "Sorry if I scared you. I was trying to lose you-know-who."  
  
"I understand all too well."  
  
"He seems to get worse every time I see him. I'm at wits end."  
  
"Don't worry. You know you can stay here as long as you wish."  
  
"Thank you. I appreciate that. You've always been so nice to me that I feel like I'm taking advantage."  
  
"Nonsense. It works both ways you know. It's nice to have someone to talk to. It can be so quiet in here sometimes."  
  
Belle smiled at the old man. She recalled years before when she and her father first moved to town. They wondered the streets getting acquainted with their surroundings, stopping by each business to say hello. Being only eight at the time, her memories slowly faded about that first year. The one memory, however, that vividly remained was her trip to the bookstore. She had sat timidly on a wooden bench while her father chatted with the shop's owner. Seeing her shyness, the bookseller picked her up and sat her in his personal chair, which left her feet dangling since it was about two sizes too large for her. He then handed her a book of children's fairy tales to keep her occupied. In the few minutes they stayed, she read it voraciously.  
  
Her father was struggling to make a living during this period, hitting a creative dry spell so to speak. Life's perks were hard to come by. There were many times she had to skip school in order to supplant the household income. Therefore any book, no matter what, became a cherished possession. So much in fact, that to her father's embarrassment, when it was time for them to leave, Belle had refused to turn it back over, clutching it tightly to her chest. Seeing her attachment, the bookseller allowed her keep it. She became hooked. The tales of adventure she read entranced her and became a surrealistic escape from a life of near destitution.  
  
Since then she had developed a special relationship with the bookseller, almost symbiotic. He kept her in a fresh supply of books while she drew in business through word-of-mouth. He also seemed to be the only one in town who understood her passion for reading. So much so that for the last few years he had been allowing her to borrow any book she wished to take home with her free of charge. This allowed her to double up. She read one at home while at the same time kept pace of another at the store.  
  
Waving his hand in front of her face, the bookseller snapped her out of her daydreaming. "Belle? Can you hear me?"  
  
"I'm sorry, my mind was elsewhere."  
  
"Nothing wrong with that." he chuckled. "All I was asking was how long you were planning to stay."  
  
"As long as it takes to get out of the mood I'm in. By the way, I finished this yesterday." She said reaching into her basket and pulling out a small book. "It was good, but I was hoping for more."  
  
"Then I have just the thing to cheer you up. Remember that book you started last week? The one I misplaced?" He pulled a book from a shelf and handed it to Belle. "Guess what I came across this morning."  
  
Belle lunged at him and gave him a big hug, nearly knocking him to the floor. "Anchors Aweigh! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I've been dying to finish this!"  
  
"Please, finish the book before you finish me" he gasped in Belle's embrace.  
  
"Sorry, but I'm so excited you found it." she said releasing him. "Do you mind if I take it home with me? I've been dying to finish, and I don't think I can wait until tomorrow."  
  
"No problem at all. Help yourself. In the meantime, I have your spot all ready to go." The old man placed a wicker chair with a cushioned back in front of a window.  
  
"Thank you." This was her favorite place to read in the whole store, a comfort zone which allowed her to enter a world all her own. When settled in exactly right, sunlight would light the pages of the book while her face remained in the shade. Background noise made by the bookseller as he quietly went about dusting added to the ambience. Belle nestled in for the morning and quickly found the page where she left her marker.  
  
The book he had come across, Anchors Aweigh, was a series of adventurous tales about a teenage girl named Aimee, who was roughly the same age as Belle. She could easily sympathize with the girl's plight. She reminded Belle of herself in more ways than one. Both had the same background. The towns they lived in were steeped in tradition of the worse kind, at least in their eyes. You were born, raised, married, and grew old within its boundaries.  
  
Women were at a special disadvantage. The land and the house, for that matter all possessions, were in the husband's name. Wives become part of that equation. Tied to their husbands, they were wives first, mothers second, and women third. It had been the natural order for centuries. But Belle, like Aimee, was determined to undermine these traditions. Neither of their personalities allowed them to fit in with the rest of society. They were daydreamers who longed to escape what they saw as the suffocating stagnation of small town living. And Aimee had succeeded where Belle had not.  
  
At the age of sixteen she stowed away on a ship headed for Amsterdam, eventually earning the respect of the all-male crew with her spunk and no- nonsense demeanor. There she experienced first hand the lavish tulip fields of Holland, reveling in her newfound freedom. Each chapter was a different stop and a new experience. She floated the waterways of Venice, toured the winding roads of mysterious Istanbul, and saw, first hand, rows and rows of the sea's finest vessels at a royal naval review in Portsmouth.  
  
That was her favorite chapter by far: England. Aimee met the queen and dined with her son, the prince, aboard the royal yacht. It was that ship that Belle had unsuccessfully tried to sketch the night before. She recalled every detail describing it, but still could not draw it to her satisfaction. Only seeing the real ship in person would suffice, something she would never do as long as she remained at home.  
  
Belle sighed and placed the book in her lap. Aimee was so lucky. She fled right before she was about to marry a man she despised. It was more of a covenant of convenience than love. A marriage arranged by her father, Laurent, to obtain land and social standing for himself. Aimee was but a pawn.  
  
"There's one difference between us." Belle thought quietly aloud. "Papa was never like that. I don't see how a parent could act that way towards his children."  
  
She let out a smirk. "On the other hand…." She pictured Gaston twenty years in the future, with graying hair and his belly overlapping his belt. The image popped from her mind as she shuddered at the vision. "I'm going to have nightmares tonight, that's for sure. People like him should exist only in fantasy."  
  
This made Belle think. It seemed like many of the tales she read had the same theme, parents or guardians who were exactly like Gaston or Laurent. Curiosity got the best of her. She jumped from the comfort of her chair and went to the shelves. Searching through several books, she found wicked stepmothers, strict fathers, and cruel sisters in a vast majority of stories.  
  
"That's odd. I wonder why I never noticed that before?" she said replacing the last book on the shelf. "At least that's something I don't have to go home to."  
  
Her thoughts returned to her father, and how lucky she was to have him. He was never much of a traditionalist. His livelihood was based on creativity and innovation. She loved him for that. He's been more of an inspiration than any fictional character she's known. What other father would allow their daughter so much free time to indulge in a 'counter-productive' pastime such as reading? She never had to fight for the right to do so. There had never been heated arguments or unnecessary demands. It seemed to have come naturally, almost to the point were she took her good fortunate for granted.  
  
Then it dawned on her. She had taken her free time for granted. He could just as easily have put her to work in town like many other father's had done with children her age. It would relieve the burden on him of being the only breadwinner in the family, with his occupation being shaky at best. How has she repaid him? She sulked in his presence, kept secret her trips into town, made excuses for not joining him in his work, and, worst of all, became ashamed of him for the first time ever today as Gaston ridiculed him publicly.  
  
Instead of being happier, Belle was now in a worse mood than when she first arrived. Holding Anchors Aweigh in her hand, she realized how different she was from her favorite heroine. How could she dare compare herself to Aimee? They were total opposites. If anything, she was more similar to the self-serving father Laurent. She slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes.  
  
Belle imagined herself as an 'anchor' holding back her own father's freedom. He was the true free spirit in the family, not her. He was the one always daring to try something different. And no matter how many failures, he was the one who kept a smile on his face and persevered. All of this was accomplished in spite of a daughter who brooded over her lack of liberty. It had to be a major juggling act for him to focus on his work while at the same time dealing with a restless child. She could only imagine how many times he had to sacrifice his personal well being for her benefit.  
  
And he surely must know how she felt, especially the way she'd been acting. Much like earlier this morning, anyone could tell only by looking into her eyes. But she never came out directly and told him how she felt not being able to experience life as she wished. She was afraid of rejection. He might forbid her going into town every day, or worse, take away her books. It was a risk she couldn't afford. No, it was better to keep quiet. Better to stick with the devil you know than the one you don't.  
  
Belle shook her head vigorously. "I've got to stop thinking like that!" She was falling into the same trap she had just found herself in, feeling sorry for herself. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. For someone who was so eager to explore the unknown, she was terrified of taking the same risks with her own father, a man she knew intimately. Until she was brave enough to express herself to him, she would never truly be free. The whole ordeal was completely cuckoo. Cuckoo?  
  
Belle, who had lost all track of time as usual, was startled by a little bird, which was popping in and out of the wall clock announcing that it was three in the afternoon. She still had to find the shopkeeper and return home while there was daylight left. Scrambling to get ready, she flew by a bewildered bookseller while gathering her possessions.  
  
"I take it you're late again?"  
  
"More than usual. I can't keep doing this!" She glances again at the clock. "Four? I thought it said three! There's no time for the store, I have to get dinner on! I hope Papa doesn't get sore."  
  
He handed her a coat as she passed by. "Here you go."  
  
"Thanks. I think I have everything now. Coat, basket, list, and a big pile of dirty clothes."  
  
"Oh, and this." He said grabbing her book off the chair where she left it.  
  
"How could I forget? I definitely don't want to leave without that." Belle tucked the book securely in her basket as she made her way to the door. "I have barely enough time to make it home and start dinner. I'll be seeing you tomorrow"  
  
"I'll be here," he said as he waved goodbye.  
  
The bookseller watched as she turned the corner and walked out of sight. Returning to work, he hummed as he arranged the books she had rummaged through earlier. The tingling of the bell above his door announced that a new customer had arrived. He was surprised to see that it was Belle who was entering.  
  
"What's the matter? Is he back?"  
  
"No, the coast is clear. I just wanted to return this."  
  
Belle handed her book over to the old man, smiling all the while.  
  
"I don't understand. Why return it?"  
  
"I've decided on a better use of my free time tonight. There are so many other things that need my attention."  
  
"But you were so excited to be taking it home."  
  
"Yes I was, and I'd still like to. Let's just say that I have more important things to do this evening besides reading. I'm sure my father would agree with me."  
  
"Ah, some father and daughter affairs, perhaps?" he said as he winked.  
  
"You could say that. And by the time we're finished, I'm sure it will be like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Mine, too."  
  
"A huge weight from your shoulders? I'm afraid I don't understand."  
  
Belle cocked her head in amusement. "It's only a figure of speech."  
  
"Whatever you say." he laughed. "You young ones. Always speaking in riddles."  
  
"I need to get going for good this time. Watch for me tomorrow. Bye!"  
  
"So long. Say hello to your father for me."  
  
"I certainly will!"  
  
As Belle exited the bookshop for the second time, she glanced at the sun and removed her coat, draping it over her arm. It was noticeably warmer as the sun had finally emerged and the wind shifted to a warm soft southerly breeze. The walk home was going to be much more pleasant then the one into town, in more ways than one.  
  
The morning may have been the same as every other since they arrived in this town, but this night was going to be different from all the rest. Without a soul in sight, she skipped along the cobblestones toward home, quietly singing to herself.  
  
  
  
  
  
2 END 


End file.
